


The Art Of Leaving It All Behind

by ChristineThalassinou1990



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anti-Jedi Council, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Qui-Gon Lives, Qui-Gon gets a hug... eventually, Qui-Gon needs a hug, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-14 05:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14763785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristineThalassinou1990/pseuds/ChristineThalassinou1990
Summary: AU where Obi-Wan dies instead of Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon's dealing with this loss very badly, and finally he leaves the Jedi Order for good. He tries to find his place again but it's a constant struggle, and he's not sure at all that he can do this.





	1. Chapter 1

_I can’t do this any longer…_ , Qui-Gon Jinn thought as the faint noises of the Jedi Temple’s morning life seeped into his dream and woke him up. _And I don’t want to._

Almost half a year passed since he’d lost his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, on Naboo, thanks to a Sith scum whom he almost immediately killed after the Sith murdered his Padawan; but it couldn’t save Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon had been left alone to deal with the consequences. He couldn’t.

For weeks he hadn’t been himself, he couldn’t sleep, he didn’t want to eat, he just wandered aimlessly in the gardens or hid in his room, curled up in his bed under a warm blanket, and simply couldn’t stop crying. All he felt was that terrible pain which he couldn’t put into words even if his life had depended on it, so he just cried instead, as long as he had tears to cry.

Then it finally passed, and he just felt empty and numb. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the people around him, nothing interested him, he just let everything passing by without even a fleeting thought. Yoda, the Council, missions, Jedi... none of these meant anything to him anymore. He didn’t care about them; he didn’t care about anything.

Qui-Gon curled up, hugging his pillow instinctively in a pathetic attempt to find some comfort somewhere, anywhere. He felt so alone it was suffocating, and he wanted to cry but couldn’t. It seemed he'd used up all of his tears already.

The Jedi, either Council-members or just other knights and masters, weren’t much of help, not that they’d tried very hard in the first place. Qui-Gon made it clear from the beginning that he was practically done with the Jedi, and he wanted nothing from them. Somewhere deep inside he blamed them – more specifically, the Council – for the death of Obi-Wan, however, he hadn’t phrased it clearly yet. But the thought was there, ever since that doomed day on Naboo.

On his better days Qui-Gon wondered why the Council still tolerated him here, but then he assumed they didn’t want to make themselves look like heartless bastards in the eyes of the other Jedi by kicking him out while he was at his lowest anyway. If nothing else, then their image in the eyes of their ‘subjects’ was something that mattered to the Jedi Council, to a certain extent. And most of the Jedi felt sorry for Qui-Gon; they knew how much he loved Obi-Wan.

He’d been considering that for a while but now Qui-Gon reached the point of absolute certainty that he didn’t want to stay here any longer. He wasn’t a Jedi anymore; that part of him, that something in him that made him a Jedi has died with Obi-Wan. He didn’t want to be associated with this group in his life ever again, however long he’d live.

After a last painful sigh he got up and tried to make himself think about the issue at hand. He had to get out of here, preferably unnoticed. The fact that almost nobody talked to him recently made it a bit easier, but Yoda or Mace Windu could be problems; and they were the last people Qui-Gon wanted to see. They’d sent them on that goddamned mission. They’d used them as a bait to attract the Siths in an attempt to find out who they were. Obi-Wan died because of this stupid decision of the Jedi Council.

Qui-Gon swallowed and tried to push away these thoughts; he knew it didn’t help. Not him, not anyone. He took a quick shower and made a light breakfast, but he didn’t really have any appetite. Even his tea wasn’t tempting at all.

Soon he gave up on eating entirely and started to pack the few things he wanted to take with him. That wasn’t much: spare clothes, his usual mission equipment, money, and his lightsaber. He considered getting rid of the saber because it ultimately marked him as a Jedi, but he wasn’t stupid enough even in his grief-stricken state of mind to go into the galaxy without any kind of weapon.

For a moment he stopped to think about where to go, and his gaze landed on the door of Obi-Wan’s room. He hadn’t been there since he got back from Naboo, he simply couldn’t make himself step into that place knowing that his Padawan wouldn’t be here ever again. It just hurt too much. In the last few months the cleaning droid was the only entity that entered that room.

Now he walked to the door slowly; he couldn’t leave without at least a last look. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t. So he opened the door and stepped in.

Everything was how Obi-Wan had left it on the morning they went away from here together for the last time: his notes on the desk, his pyjama on his bed... Every little detail stirred up memories and feelings, good and bad alike, and Qui-Gon felt his eyes burning again. He was about to leave when he caught the sight of something that looked familiar.

He instinctively went closer to the shelf above the bed and picked up the old, a bit ragged but still soft plush kitten. Softy. That was its name. Qui-Gon didn’t know Obi-Wan still had it.

Tears came now, like rivers, and a second later he was sitting on his Padawan’s bed, sobbing freely as memories came back, totally uncontrolled. Obi-Wan Kenobi, his new, 8-year-old Padawan, looking up at him, hugging his plush kitten named Softy, trust and love in his big blue-gray eyes. Obi-Wan, a few months later, crawling into his bed with Softy in his arms at 2 a. m. after claiming he’d had a bad dream. 13-year-old Obi-Wan, bedridden with an ugly flu, shivering under three blankets and clinging to his plush kitten desperately for comfort.

It hurt. It hurt like hell.

Qui-Gon had no idea how much time had passed, but when he could finally calm down and get his sadness under some kind of control again, he felt exhausted and drained, and he felt a headache building. And he knew that he couldn’t stay here any longer. Not in this apartment, not in the Temple, not even on this planet. There was too much pain here.

After washing his face with cold water he didn’t waste more time, just grabbed his backpack and left the apartment without looking back. He barely reached the spaceport of the Temple when he heard a voice calling after him. He didn’t have any intention to stop or even to slow down, so he continued walking like he didn’t hear a thing.

“Just where the hell do you think you’re going?” asked Mace Windu nervously when he could finally catch up with Qui-Gon’s long steps and yanked the other back by the sleeve of his robe.

Qui-Gon turned around and lashed out with a strong Force-push, making Mace stumble back a few steps.

“Don’t you dare touch me ever again” he said, his voice more than vaguely threatening.

Mace blinked for a few times, obviously confused by Qui-Gon’s attack and general hostility. He knew the other was grieving and he had a strong assumption that he blamed the Council for his tragic loss, but he wouldn’t have thought even in his wildest dream that Qui-Gon would attack and threaten a Council-member.

“I know it’s a hard period for you... so let’s pretend it didn’t happen” Mace said, still hoping for a chance of moderate communication with his fellow Jedi, but Qui-Gon wasn’t in the mood right now. “Nobody wanted it to end this way. Obi-Wan was a talented young Jedi...”

He shouldn’t have said that. Obi-Wan’s name was like a trigger to Qui-Gon, and he attacked again, this time in a much more profane way: he punched Mace in the face, hard.

“And yet, you let him die. You’ve sent him into his death. You, and your damned Council, and your fucked up idea! We’re not your baits to play with, any of us! And you can’t risk our Padawans like this, for fuck’s sake! You really think they’re ready to deal with Siths? Really?!” he hissed into the Council-member’s face from mere inches.

Mace was so shocked by the aggressive physical attack that he just stared at Qui-Gon in complete silence, considering his desperate words. Then...

“You’re right” he said quietly to Qui-Gon, and this was so unexpected that it cooled the other’s anger somewhat. “It was our fault; the Council’s fault. And we’re truly and honestly sorry for your loss.”

“That doesn’t help too much” Qui-Gon muttered as he turned away to take a ship and finally get away from here. “Leave me alone, Mace. I have nothing to do with you anymore. I’ve given the Order everything I had, and all you gave me back was pain and loss. I’m done with you.”

“And where do you want to go?” Mace asked, stunned a bit by the events; it didn’t go as he’d expected at all.

“As long as it’s far enough from here, I don’t care” Qui-Gon answered, and Mace watched helplessly as he boarded one of the ships with a hyperdrive and a minute later took off.


	2. Chapter 2

After taking off Qui-Gon chose a destination without too much thinking; practically he gave the computer the first planet name that came to his mind: Alderaan. He’d never been there anyway, but before the events of Naboo he’d been planning a trip to Alderaan. He heard many positive things about that planet, and he was curious if they were true. Now he had the chance to find out; only it would’ve been much better to go with Obi-Wan by his side.

The only thing that saved him from breaking down crying again was that the ship jumped into hyperspace and he felt a wave of nausea so strong he almost threw up. For some reason he’d been sick from hyperspace jumps since his childhood. He was 10 when it happened for the first time, on a diplomatic mission with his master, Dooku.

It was the very first occasion he travelled on a spaceship so he had no idea at all that he’d have problems with it. Well, he had, he got so sick that everything he could eat on the previous day came back. He was so embarrassed and ashamed that he wanted to disappear and die, and he thought that master Dooku would change his mind at once about having him as a Padawan.

Instead, Dooku just supported him to their sleeping chamber, gave him some water and after a promise that they’d find a solution to make space travels more comfortable for him, used a gentle Force-suggestion to lull him into sleep for the rest of the journey. When he woke up, Dooku was still beside him, and he felt much better.

Since then he had a strong relationship with his master which stretched well into his knighthood-years as well, but in the last five years or so they’d met very rarely. Sometimes Qui-Gon missed his master pretty much, but not as much as now. He had no idea if Dooku even knew what happened to him and Obi-Wan on Naboo, but he had a strong guess that Dooku hadn’t heard about it yet. Otherwise he’d have at least contacted Qui-Gon to say he was sorry for his loss or something. Qui-Gon was getting pretty curious about where his master could have been. It’d be so good to talk to someone who always supported and understood him.

The nausea was still there, for some reason it didn’t want to pass, so Qui-Gon stood up from the pilot-chair to find the bathroom before he got worse. He had medicine for the issue but it was to take before boarding a ship, and he forgot it due to his quarrel with Mace Windu. It made him so upset that trivial things like his medicine totally fell out of his mind.

He had a guess that it wasn’t only the hyperspace jump that caused this sickness but also the fact that he’d barely eaten anything yet today. He tried to drink some water but it just made the whole problem worse. A few moments later everything came back that he could eat or drink in the last few hours, then he dragged himself to the sleeping chamber, feeling too exhausted even to think straight. He kicked off his shoes and curled up into a ball on the too small and atrociously uncomfortable bed, using his robe as a blanket.

Five minutes later he fell asleep.

 

When Qui-Gon woke up the ship was only two hours away from Alderaan, which meant he spent almost the entirety of the 16-hours-long journey with sleeping. He must’ve been really exhausted.

As he got up, every muscle in his body protested painfully, thanks to the long time in the uncomfortable bed. _Damn it_ , he thought as he groaned silently on his way out of the small room. He tried to finally eat something then took his medicine, hoping that the arrival wouldn’t make him sick again.

Well, it wasn’t as bad as the previous jump but he still wished he hadn’t eaten. He reached the capital city of the planet without further problems, and after getting permission to land he found a smaller spaceport with lesser traffic near Aldera.

The capital city looked really beautiful even from above. It was basically an island in the middle of a lake, with high, white or other light-coloured buildings. It seemed that the city was in perfect harmony with its environment, and it was appealing to Qui-Gon who was a great nature-lover.

Half an hour later he was roaming on the streets of Aldera, trying to blend in and not to look like a typical Jedi. For that he left behind the very distinctive robe, changed into a dark gray tunic and black pants, and risked not to have his lightsaber with him. Aldera was a safe city, perhaps one of the safest in the galaxy, so Qui-Gon hoped that whatever happens to him here his Force-abilities would be enough to solve any possible problem. He was also trained in hand-to-hand combat so he wasn’t too worried about being unarmed here.

For a while he could almost forget the constant pain he felt in the last months. The city was vivid, interesting and really stunning. Qui-Gon felt like a tourist as he wandered around, trying not to leave his mouth open from time to time. The buildings, the parks, even the roads... everything was beautiful. The people were kind enough, too, they helped him willingly when he asked about places where he could buy some food for a reasonable price.

It was late afternoon when in a narrow alley he passed by a store which looked interesting. It was apparently a weapon store, and Qui-Gon had been thinking about a substitution for his lightsaber recently. He couldn’t think about himself as a Jedi anymore, and he didn’t want others to think he was a Jedi. So he wanted to get some other primary weapon for himself than a lightsaber.

He went into the store, looking around carefully. The shop wasn’t illegal in Aldera but it obviously had an intention of remaining hidden from the public eyes.

“Hello?” Qui-Gon said, wondering if anybody was there at all.

“A moment!” a male voice answered, unusually high and with a definitely greedy edge to it.

A second later the owner of the voice also showed up. It was a human man, skinny, dark-eyed and almost bald, much smaller than Qui-Gon; however, the latter wasn’t surprising at all. Most humans were smaller than Qui-Gon.

“How can I help you?” asked the shopkeeper, polite enough.

“I’m looking for something for self-defence” Qui-Gon replied, still cautious.

He just didn’t like this guy for some reason.

“What’s your primary weapon, if any?”

“Sword.”

The store-owner’s gaze measured him up, and he didn’t like it at all. He stepped back a little and crossed his arms over his chest as a defensive gesture. He had a feeling that the guy guessed he was a Jedi.

“Well, perhaps I have something that could be interesting for someone like you” the shopkeeper said and disappeared in the back of the shop just to come back a moment later with a long, sheathed sword in his hands. “Here, take a look!”

Qui-Gon grabbed the hilt and drew the sword with one swift, elegant motion.

“Oh” he sighed, eyeing the blade wishfully.

It was undeniably beautiful, with a design that resembled to the ancient Je’daii swords: slightly curved one-edged blade and a hilt long enough to hold it with both hands. It was unbelievably comfortable, and Qui-Gon almost felt the blade ‘singing’ to him.

“Some say it was the sword of a Jedi lived long-long ago” the shopkeeper said casually then shrugged. “But I’m not buying this. It’s indeed a beautiful blade... but just a simple blade nonetheless.”

Qui-Gon didn’t totally agree , but he didn’t want to let this guy know it. If he wanted to think that it was an average sword, then it wasn’t Qui-Gon’s job to lighten him up.

“How much?” he asked instead.

The shopkeeper smirked.

“Look... You’re a Jedi, right? So you could simply use a mind trick on me to make me believe you were never here at all, walking away with my property. I know what your kind is capable of, that’s why I don’t like dealing with Jedi. But since you’re here and right now holding a sword in your hands... let’s say it’s a ‘gift’. Provided you won’t be back here ever again, and you keep your mouth shut about this place, especially to your friends. Deal?”

Qui-Gon nodded, not correcting the store-owner on his wrong assumptions about his ‘friends’ and him being a Jedi.

“Thanks” he said.

“You’re welcome. Now get out of my shop.”

Qui-Gon did as he was told, sheathing his new sword again. What could that guy do that was so important – and most probably illegal – that he gave up the obviously valuable sword just to get rid of a Jedi and make him hold his tongue about the shop?


	3. Chapter 3

As evening fell the air became really chilly, and Qui-Gon started to regret he didn’t have his robe with him. He was cold just in his tunic. So after a late, light dinner he went back to his ship; he didn’t want to spend money on hotels if he didn’t necessarily have to. The money he brought with him was his only resource, so he had to be careful how he spent it.

He wasn’t too tired, thanks to the fact that he slept through almost the whole journey here, so after he got his robe he went to take a short walk by the lake.

The night was quiet and cool, with a gentle breeze playing with his hair. The lights from the city were enough to see properly, but there was a path following the shores of the lake, with small lamps next to it. It was quite friendly.

Soon Qui-Gon sat down on the lakeshore, staring at the reflecting lights on the water, but he didn’t really see them. His thoughts were somewhere else. He missed Obi-Wan relentlessly, he couldn’t find his place without him, and he’d never felt so lost and lonely in his life. In the last decade or so he got used to the fact that Obi-Wan was with him. He took it for granted, and it never crossed his mind that he’d be the one left behind. It just wasn’t the way it should’ve happened.

 _It should’ve been me_ , he thought and felt hot tears running down on his cheeks; he didn’t do anything to stop them. Nobody was there to comfort him, but he’d got used to it by now. He was alone, as he’d been alone in the last roughly six months; or maybe even more. He wasn’t a Jedi anymore, after all, he’d lost the only family he’d ever known as well.

He sat there, weeping silently until it got so cold that he was freezing even in his robe. He then stood up, wiping his face and walked back to his ship, head hung low and his hood pulled up to hide the signs of crying. Not that so many people were on the streets that late at night, but he didn’t want to take any risk. He didn’t want to see pity on anyone’s face.

He got back to his ship without seeing anybody. He still wasn’t sleepy, just sad and distraught; he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he couldn’t even get close to it. So he settled on the bed in the sleeping chamber and called his lightsaber to him.

When he departed from Coruscant he thought about getting rid of the weapon but now he got another idea. He thought it would be more difficult, but he felt only indifference as he picked apart the lightsaber quickly, keeping the valuable parts, like the power source, for selling them later. He knew he could’ve got a ton of money for the crystal but that was the only thing he wasn’t willing to give up. That was his on a level he couldn’t explain. As he held it on his palm he felt it buzzing gently with the Force around them, and it was strangely comforting.

As far as Qui-Gon knew, the ancient Je’daii blades also used crystals to tie the blade to the Force, such increasing its already considerable endurance and sharpness, and if his freshly acquired sword was indeed a blade of this kind, then perhaps he could find a new place for his crystal. So with his free hand he picked up the sword from beside his bed and examined it carefully, trying to determinate where the crystal could fit.

Soon he found it, a small gap at the end of the hilt, currently empty; most probably the original crystal got sold when the sword ended up in the dark web of weapon trading.

Jedi didn’t have much information about the Je’daii and their ways of living at all, so Qui-Gon could only guess how to connect the crystal and the blade, but he didn’t think it could be more difficult than constructing a lightsaber. And if he could do that, then he could figure out how to solve this question at hand as well.

He took a deep breath and tried to find the most comfortable position on that goddamn bed because he had a feeling it would take a considerable amount of time. Realizing that however hard he tried to be comfortable, he’d have a screaming back pain once he’s being finished, he finally gave up and soon slipped into meditation.

For months after the tragedy on Naboo he was simply incapable of meditation, not that he’d tried very hard in the first place. But when he did try, it usually ended in failure. It was the last few weeks when his ability to meditate had returned. He wished it was some sign of the things changing for the better, but he still felt miserable and alone, without purpose or goals... or even hope. He didn’t believe he could find happiness again somewhere.

Qui-Gon quickly pushed away the painful, bad memories and thoughts and concentrated on the issue at hand. Since he had no certain idea at all about what he should do, he let the Force guide him entirely. Later he couldn’t explain how, not even if his life had depended on it, but he managed to shape the crystal to the required form and connect it with the sword on a level that wasn’t just physical. There was a new bond between the crystal and the blade and himself as well. He had no idea at all what this bonding could be, but as long as it didn’t cause any problems he was fine with it.

He felt the Force flowing through and around him, soothing his exhausted mind and body as he came out of the meditation. He put down the sword beside him and tried to stand up but the stabbing pain in his back almost made him fall on the bed again.

 _I’m too old for this_ , Qui-Gon thought as after a few moments he tried again, with more success. _If I steal a ship ever again, I’ll check its bed first._

He dragged himself into the small bathroom to have a quick shower before he collapsed on the bed, falling asleep a second later. He didn’t have time even to pull his robe around himself as blanket.

A few hours later he woke so abruptly he almost fell off the bed. He knew he had a nightmare but didn’t remember clearly what it was about. The only thing he knew was that someone entered his mind in this nightmare... to ask help. And if his gut instinct was right, it was his ex-master, Dooku.


	4. Chapter 4

When someone kicked open the door of his cell, Dooku knew his ‘distress call’ through the Force had finally reached somebody who was willing to help. He didn’t know yet who it was, he could barely see in the darkness, but it looked like his rescuer didn’t need extra light. Dooku saw a pale green glow, but it wasn’t a lightsaber, as he expected it to be.

But if this guy could feel the call, he must’ve been a Force-user, right? And if he was a Force-user, he should’ve had a lightsaber.

However, this guy’s weapon was not a lightsaber but an authentic sword, a beautiful one with slightly curved, deadly sharp blade which glowed faintly in the darkness. It gave just enough light for Dooku to finally identify his rescuer.

“Qui-Gon?” he rasped and took a shaky step toward him.

“Yeah... It’s me. But we have to go, I don’t want more pirates and slave traders today.”

Something in his ex-Padawan’s voice gave Dooku the creeps, but he followed Qui-Gon through the corridors and tunnels until they reached Eadu’s ever-stormy surface. The planet apparently had only this kind of weather. Qui-Gon’s ship wasn’t far away, perhaps a hundred meters or so, but even on this short distance they got soaked to the bone.

Dooku shivered violently, and however much he hated to show weakness, he was glad when Qui-Gon noticed his condition and gave him a towel and dry clothes.

“Thank you” he muttered as he slipped into the small bathroom to change.

While his ex-master was away Qui-Gon fetched some food and water for him; Dooku looked malnourished, sleep deprived and weak, and he was worried about his health.

A few minutes later Dooku sat on the bed in the sleeping chamber of the ship, with Qui-Gon’s robe wrapped around him, and nibbled on the food his ex-Padawan gave him. He didn’t really feel hunger but knew he needed the food, so he ate it obediently. Sometimes he glanced up at Qui-Gon who stood at the door, leaning against the wall and mostly staring at the floor.

He wore only his trousers and a T-shirt and his still damp hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. He looked weary and sad, and the fact that Obi-Wan wasn’t with him filled Dooku with cold dread for some reason. Something terrible must’ve happened; he just knew it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, however, felt stupid as he did so; Qui-Gon clearly wasn’t alright, but somehow he had to initiate some communication, and he was too tired to come up with something more creative.

Qui-Gon shrugged, still unwilling to look up.

“Yeah...” he muttered, obviously lying. “But what happened to you that you ended up in that hellhole?”

“It’s stupid, really... I was sent to a peace negotiation, and one of the parties decided they’d make money by selling a Jedi to the slave traders. It was so darn unexpected that it just happened before I could even process it.”

“Oh” that’s all that Qui-Gon said, turning away to start the ship to get off of the planet. “I’ll take you back to Coruscant if you want. Or wherever else you have to go.”

“Wait!” Dooku called after him, and Qui-Gon turned back.

The look on his face scared Dooku. It was tired and defeated, and the sheer hopelessness in his eyes almost broke Dooku’s heart.

“Do you need something?”

“What happened?” Dooku asked, and he didn’t have to say more; Qui-Gon knew perfectly well what he meant by the question.

Still, at first he wasn’t willing to answer it. While he was in the Temple after Naboo, crying himself to sleep night after night, the only thing he knew for sure that no one was there he could’ve turned to; no one who could’ve or would’ve helped him. So now he couldn’t fully trust that his ex-master would be an exception.

However, when Dooku stood up, walked up to him and stroked his shoulder as a silent encouragement to talk, Qui-Gon broke down. He threw himself into his ex-master’s arms, clinging to him for dear life and sobbing into his shoulder desperately. Dooku hugged him tight, stroking his back slowly, and just let him cry, not saying a single word. He knew it would be useless. Whatever happened, words wouldn’t make it better.

“Obi-Wan’s gone, isn’t he?” he asked quietly a few minutes later, when Qui-Gon’s sobs ceased a little.

Qui-Gon just nodded, crying harder again; he was glad he didn’t have to say it. He wasn’t sure he could’ve done it.

“I’m so sorry. I really am” Dooku whispered into his hair as he hugged him more protectively.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain Qui-Gon must’ve felt, but he knew he most probably would’ve gone mad in a situation like this. He didn’t ask how it happened; Qui-Gon would tell him if and when he was ready to share it.

Dooku didn’t know how much time had passed since Qui-Gon fell apart in his arms, but now he felt him tiring out. His grip on his tunic loosened and he went limp in his embrace, sniffling quietly. Dooku led him to the bed and they fell on it in a heap; it wasn’t comfortable in the slightest but Qui-Gon didn’t seem to mind it now. He just curled up at Dooku’s side, snuggling close to him for the comfort he’d craved for so long.

Dooku hugged him again, stroking his back soothingly.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked.

“I don’t know... But... I left the Order. I think you should know this” Qui-Gon muttered. “So I can’t go back with you. I can only give you a lift to Coruscant.”

To be honest, Dooku wasn’t surprised; he had a guess how inadequately the Council dealt with the situation Qui-Gon was in.

“That’s why you apparently don’t have a lightsaber anymore?” he asked, partly because he wanted to find a subject that was at least somewhat safe, but he was genuinely curious as well.

“Yeah, let’s say that.”

Qui-Gon told him the story of getting his hands on the sword as Dooku examined it with the appropriate respect. He’d never seen a blade so beautiful, and he honestly thought it suited Qui-Gon better than a lightsaber.

They then fell silent again for a while, and Qui-Gon was close to drifting off when he heard his ex-master speaking.

“Would you give me a lift to Serenno? I need to go home for a while.”

“Yeah, sure, but... why?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I had time to think recently... maybe even more time than I would’ve liked. And there are things that I feel I need to reconsider. And I don’t want to do it on Coruscant.”

Qui-Gon understood what his ex-master didn’t say: that he didn’t want to be in the Temple. Since Qui-Gon had a first-hand experience about the Council’s and generally the Jedi’s incompetence in helping in personal crises, he couldn’t blame Dooku for wanting to be away from them when he needed time for himself.

He got up and went to start the ship; soon they were on their way to Serenno.

“You can stay, too, if you like” Dooku offered when Qui-Gon dragged himself back to him. “There’ll be enough room for you. It’s a pretty big mansion I have on Serenno.”

Qui-Gon didn’t think about it too much; he just nodded, accepting the offer.

They had a short debate about which one of them should occupy the bed, finally Dooku was the one, and Qui-Gon resided on the floor next to him, wrapped up in his robe. It was still more comfortable than that goddamned bed. Before he fell asleep he felt Dooku reaching out cautiously and squeezing his hand gently when he found it. Qui-Gon returned the gesture and still held on to his ex-master well after he slipped into the world of dreams.

Dooku soon followed his example, but not before he made a vow to himself that whatever it would take, he’d help Qui-Gon to find his place again. And if he, too, had to leave the Order to do this... then so be it.

 

**The End**


End file.
